Lost in July

XVI

Collin
~
Seeing Margo on the kitchen floor
clutching her knees to her chest until her hands were snow white has got to be one of the worst this I've experienced in here.

I know Margo is very mentally ill. I know she's bipolar, so obviously that comes with a lot of conflicts and moments that I wouldn't experience with a mentally stable person.

This was the first one I'd experienced, and to say I was petrified is an understatement.

Seeing her eyes clenched shut and her teeth grinding against one another made my heart shatter just like the broken plates that surrounded her.

She thought someone had a gun. This wasn't just a bad memory or a reaction to a loud noise, this was severe PTSD.

It took Margo awhile to let me help her off the floor, and when I did she simply walked out of the kitchen with her head down and her tears fresh.

I followed her and begged her to go see her therapist, or at least talk to a nurse.

She was hesitant, but eventually agreed, and that's why I'm leaning on a cold hard wall outside of the therapy wing, waiting for Margo's beautiful face to greet me.

I don't want to hover. I don't want her to think that I'm trying to save her or baby her. I only want to be there for her, in whatever way she'll have me.

Somehow, in a very short amount of days, Margo July has forced herself into my life and I do not want her to leave.

I let myself slide down the wall and sit back against the wall, tying to get the picture of her terrified eyes out of my head.

I wanted so badly to ask her what happened- to demand who the fuck made her this horrified, but I couldn't.

She's in so much pain, so much more than she lets on. I don't think she fully grasps how much pain she truly is in.

I couldn't sit there and interrogate her on what made her panic, but I desperately wanted to.

Margo's very closed off, as am I, but I know first hand how hard it is to open up to someone, anyone, without your anxiety taking over.

I know how it feels when people are constantly questioning you and trying to find answers to solve your anxieties.

I didn't want to do that to Margo, too.

If she wants to talk to me about it, she will.

After a few more silent minutes, minus my overthinking, the doors to the therapy wing swing open, Margo facing me.

Her hair is disheveled and her oversized clothing makes her look adorably small. It's clear that she's been crying by the way her eyes are beginning to swell and her cheeks are stained pink.

She scrunches her brows as her eyes find mine. "You waited?"

I smile softly. "Yeah. Is that okay?"

She sniffles, pulling on the sleeves of her hoodie and looking down. "Yeah. It's more than okay,"

She walks toward me and without any more words from either of us, she pulls me into a hug by my shoulders.